The Meltdown

A toddler loses it at the end of the day.

When our daughter Jennifer was two, she sometimes had difficulty napping. It seemed that she just didn’t want to miss anything. She could be active, alert and happy all day long. On rare occasions, she would hit the wall when it was time to unwind and get ready for bed. On this particular day, I don’t remember what set her off (and sixteen years later it certainly doesn’t seem important), but around 9:00 that evening she fell into a full-blown tantrum. She slammed her door and stood in the middle of her room stamping her feet, pounding the floor with her fists, screaming at the top of her lungs and sobbing loudly.

My husband David was “on duty” at the time. He gamely tried every trick in his book to distract her, redirect her or comfort her, but she only screamed louder. Finally, digging deep into a primitive, previously untapped part of his brain, he pulled out his last desperate trick: He screamed back at her. At a decibel level neither Jennifer nor I had ever heard before, he directed her to knock it off, to pull herself together. (We refer to this in retrospect as the Nike approach to child development: Just Do It.) Then, probably having scared himself with the violent energy he was tapping into, he stormed out of the room.

If my own stomach was in a knot, hearing this drama unfold from several rooms away, I can only imagine how my exhausted toddler was feeling. Her dad had surprised her and caught her off guard with his explosion. She stopped to catch her breath. But the respite didn’t last more than three seconds. By the time I got there, she was screaming louder than ever. My knock on the door only caused an additional surge in volume, as she threw herself against the door in order to hold it shut. I knew she was exhausted and distraught and that she didn’t have the tools to comfort herself. Forcing my way in was not going to help, so I sat outside her door and spoke quietly to her whenever she paused to take a breath.

I assured her that I was there for her and that I loved her. After a few minutes, I gently turned the knob and opened the door a little. Talking quietly to her and assuring her that she would get through this, I slowly moved into the room. After about ten minutes I was sitting in the middle of the room, next to her, and she was crying more quietly than before. When I could see that she was ready, I gently touched her leg and told her that I would be happy to hold her if she would like me to. With that she finally collapsed into my lap I could feel her little body let go. After a few minutes, I helped her get ready for bed and sat with her a bit longer.  She quickly fell asleep.

Young children need help from their parents in regulating their emotions. Sometimes the excitement of taking in so much that is new and stimulating in their world is enough to throw them off balance. A soft, soothing voice and reassurance that you are there for them helps calm them, makes them feel secure and teaches them that they will not be abandoned.